Tomorrow – Rachel Finch




There’s a cigarette hanging

from her lips, a little swollen,

blue and purple,

hand painted crimson

to remind her, today

was a new beginning.

The ashtray is overflowing,

she leans over it,

knocks the ash into a glass

of whiskey, picks up another

and leans into it.

Music is blaring,

she’s moving

the top half of her body

to the beat, resting the lower,

jelly legs, fuzzy feet.

She locks eyes with the girl

across the room,

she’s talking in someone else’s ear,

she tries to lip read,

sees the exchange, mouths,

“Today was a new beginning,

is it yesterday again?”

She watches the girl’s hand

float its way to her mouth,

sewing a button of before

onto her tongue,

hurts inside to understand

and debates the same.

The thump of the beat

pulsates into her

and she’s glad of it

when the others enter the room.

Someone’s shouting,


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